


Waiting

by LittlebutFiery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 5+1, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Gaby waits to tell Illya she's pregnant, and the one time she doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Something of a sequel to my other 5+1 piece, 'Hesitation.'

It’s a lovely day in Tangiers, the location of their current mission. Illya and Napoleon are off doing surveillance somewhere, while Gaby is preparing for her role as a honeypot at a ball tonight. 

She’s just finished putting on eyeliner when there’s a short knock at the door. Gaby goes to answer, hiding her small, silver-plated gun behind her back. She immediately puts it away upon seeing the bellboy holding an envelope.

“Mail for you, ma’am,” the bellboy says timidly, seeing the suspicious look in Gaby’s eyes. She smiles back pleasantly, accepting the envelope.

“Thank you,” she replies, handing him the only crumpled-up bill she has in her pocket and hoping it’s a good enough tip. He bolts off, clearly still intimidated.

Gaby sighs, closing and locking the door. The return address on the envelope reads ‘ _Dr. Tarek Haddani_ ,’ addressed to Gaby by her real name. She had been sick for almost the entire mission, but rather than worry Illya and Napoleon, she had slunk off to the most reputable local doctor she could find.

Deep down, Gaby knew any number of things could be wrong, or not wrong – anything from the flu to some horrible disease from all the chemicals she had been exposed to in the auto shop in East Berlin. But despite telling herself it was all right, it took Gaby nearly an hour before she had the courage to open the envelope.

Instead of a formal diagnosis or medical chart, the envelope held a single sheet of letterhead bearing a doctor’s quick, angular handwriting.

‘ _Mrs. Kuryakin_ ,’ Gaby read breathlessly, ‘ _It is with great pleasure that I can offer you a diagnosis for your recent ailments. What you reported (nausea, increased appetite, insomnia, weight gain, etc.) are common symptoms of a very common and benign condition. In simpler terms – my deepest congratulations on your pregnancy, Mrs. Kuryakin. I have no doubt you will be a wonderful mother. Please keep in touch. Dr. Haddani_.’

Pregnant. Gaby was pregnant. Her heart leaped at the thought of that concept, of her and Illya’s little bundle of joy –

How would Illya react? He had never really had much of a childhood, no younger siblings, no _parents_ ; at least, none that were present and stable. Would he even want a family? Could he handle raising a child?

Gaby shook off the thought. Better to not tell him yet, she convinced herself – it was so common to lose the baby in the first trimester. The last thing she wanted was to give him the hope, or fear, or both, and then yank it back away. No, waiting was the best option.

When Illya and Napoleon came back a few hours later, Gaby was reading on the sofa, basking in the warmth of the raging fire in the fireplace. The charred remains of a letter sat unnoticed in the ashes.

*

It’s only been two weeks when the contents of the letter leap back to the forefront of Gaby’s mind as though they hadn’t been lurking in the back the whole time. This time, they’re in Brussels, out for dinner to celebrate Gaby and Illya’s anniversary.

“Two glasses of your finest champagne, please,” Illya tells the waiter, who immediately starts to protest. “I do not care the cost. It is our anniversary. Two glasses of your best champagne.”

“Just one,” Gaby corrects lightly, prompting a strange and almost offended look from Illya. “I’m not really in the mood for champagne right now.”

The waiter casts a haughty look at both of them before leaving. Illya immediately demands, “Are you all right, Gaby?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Gaby scowls, sipping at her water. What she wouldn’t do for a glass of vodka instead.

“You’re not drinking,” Illya says instead, as if that is a protest.

Gaby’s scowl deepens. “I am not an alcoholic, my dear.”

“I did not say this. But you have not had a single drink in two weeks. It is unlike you. Are you well?” Illya persists, concern clouding his eyes.

Gaby’s ferocious glare softens into a smile as she realizes just how much Illya worries over her. “Yes, lllya. I’m fine. I promise.”

He still gives her a strange look but concedes, dropping the subject. For just a moment, Gaby wants to blurt out the news, tell him that she’s given up alcohol for a reason. For a very precious reason, one Gaby dreams about at night and has already started looking at names for.

Instead, she lets them sit in companionable silence until the waiter returns with Illya’s champagne.

*

A month later, Gaby begins to wonder how long she should keep this a secret. Her pregnancy is just beginning to show, and so she’s taken to wearing looser dresses and leaving off the belts Illya loves so much. She’s nearing the end of the first trimester, leaving her fewer excuses besides her own nervousness to continue hiding it from Illya.

And yet, when Napoleon suggests going window-shopping in Barcelona the day before their new mission starts, Gaby leaps at the opportunity for a distraction.

Like so many of the team’s plans, Gaby’s attempt to distract herself fails miserably. All she can see is the families out and about, the children underfoot, and most of all the boutiques and shops full of everything she could ever want for her baby.

“Getting baby fever there, Gaby?” Napoleon teases, catching Gaby staring into a children’s shop for just a moment too long.

She whirls on him, angry he’s hit too close to home. “Say that again, Solo, I dare you.”

“Easy there, Mrs. Kuryakin,” Napoleon raises his hands up in surprise.

“I do _not_ have ‘baby fever,’ and I’m certainly not looking to have children any time soon,” Gaby hisses instead, ignoring the outright lie in her words.

Illya catches Gaby’s eye and the pain on her husband’s face nearly breaks her. Damn it all, Illya _does_ want a family.

Well, Gaby seethes, he’ll have to wait. Napoleon isn’t going to ruin this for her. When she tells Illya, it’ll be as carefully planned as she knows his proposal to her was. She’s not going to reveal her news in the middle of a crowded street, no matter how much Napoleon teases or how much Illya pouts.

She storms off, hiding her nerves in false anger once again as she pretends to not notice the hurt in Illya’s eyes.

*

The next day, Gaby is cursing her stupid pride. A plan, she had told herself. She would have some elaborate plan for telling Illya he was going to be a father.

And now he’s lying broken in a hospital bed and she might never get to tell him.

The mission had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Napoleon had barely fought his way out and came back with reinforcements to find Illya dumped in an alley. Miraculously, he was alive without so much as a broken bone.

He looks dead and broken to Gaby, limp in his bed and covered head to toe with bruises and bandages. The doctors promise her he’ll wake up eventually.

When is eventually? Is it today, or is it sometime in the future, too late to learn about his child before it’s born?

“Illya,” Gaby whispers, clutching at his bruised hand. “Illya, I’m sorry.”

There’s no response but his soft breathing. Tears streak down her cheeks. “Illya…”

She takes a deep breath. “Darling. I…I’m…”

“Beautiful,” a familiar voice croaks.

Gaby looks up, startled from her tears. Illya has just barely managed to open his eyes; he’s beaming at her like he’s never seen her before.

“You’re…okay!” Gaby gasps.

“Something like this,” Illya replies wryly.

She throws her arms around him, all thoughts of her confession completely forgotten in her joy.

*

Her first trimester is over, and Gaby has run out of excuses for herself. Today, she vows, she’ll tell Illya. She has it all planned out, every last detail, the way she knows Illya would if their roles were reversed.

She walks into the living room and her whole plan is shattered.

Illya is at least halfway through a handle of vodka, sprawled out across the entire length of the suite’s couch. He isn’t even wasting time with a glass, opting to drink straight from the bottle instead. Gaby has never seen him like this, and she can’t even attempt to hide her shock.

Napoleon is sitting in the corner of the room, reading the newspaper and trying very hard to pretend like he isn’t keeping an eye on his inebriated friend. He asks pleasantly, “Are you all right, dear?”

“I…Illya,” Gaby manages.

“Never seen him like this before?” Napoleon persists. Gaby shakes her head weakly. “No, of course not. You've never been on assignment with him for this. Never looked at his file, either, I imagine?”

He nods at the gray file sitting on the table; Gaby doesn’t even bother to ask how he got it. Instead, she flips it open. Cyrillic has become second nature, so it doesn’t take her long to find the item she knows Napoleon wants her to find.

“What’s today’s date?” she asks, voice a little higher than normal.

“June 25th,” Napoleon replies. “Or so says the New York Times.”

“His father was sent to the gulag today,” Gaby manages.

“Just about 20 years ago today,” Napoleon nods. “Something like that.”

“That explains…this,” Gaby gestures at the vodka-soaked man on the couch; the noises coming from him sound suspiciously like crying.

“That it does,” Napoleon agrees, still not looking up from the paper.

Gaby is silent for a long time, frustrated at her poor timing. She sighs and says curtly, “I’ll leave him to cope in whatever way he likes. Get me if he needs me,” and heads back to her bedroom.

Napoleon watches her go, more than slightly curious, before returning to the paper.

*

It’s a week later, and Gaby has drastically revised her plan. She won’t admit it to herself, but she likes this one better.

Napoleon’s theft – or borrowing, as he insisted – of Illya’s file had led to another important date being discovered – Illya’s birthday. In the past, he had insisted his birthday wasn’t important and that they not celebrate it. He refused to even give them the date.

Now that Gaby knew, she was going to give him a birthday to remember.

It’s an otherwise unremarkable day, a lull in the mission. Napoleon is out ‘gathering intel,’ his own personal code for ‘carousing.’ Illya is in the living room, as always, staring intently at his chessboard.

“Illya,” Gaby calls. He looks up, once again smiling at Gaby as though he had never seen her before.

“My dear,” Illya replies, bringing a smile to Gaby’s face as well. The nervousness immediately creeps back, though she tries to ignore it.

“Happy birthday, Illya,” Gaby says simply.

“I thought we agreed my birthday was not important,” Illya scowls.

“We never agreed, and thanks to Napoleon I finally learned the date. Happy birthday. What I got you is…small, but I thought you might like it,” Gaby replies, trailing off almost bashfully. She offers the small wrapped box she’s holding.

Despite himself, Illya accepts the box and opens it, pulling out a tiny pair of baby booties. He looks at them, beyond confused.

“Um…Gaby,” he manages. “These are…small.”

“They’re not for you,” Gaby laughs, Illya’s obliviousness erasing her nervousness. “They’re for our baby.”

It takes him a moment, but the words sink in. He stares at her, almost unable to accept it, before he croaks, “We’re…”

“We’re having a baby, Illya,” Gaby smiles back.

Illya jumps up from his seat so quickly he knocks over the chessboard, pulling Gaby into a tight hug. He repeats weakly into her shoulder, “We’re having a baby.”

Gaby nods, holding him just as tight. He laughs a little, saying again, “We’re having a baby!”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now,” Gaby admits, embarrassed. “But nothing ever seemed like the right time.”

Illya presses his lips to her forehead and murmurs, “I think now was perfect time.”

Gaby smiles, wishing she could stay in Illya’s tight embrace forever. She doesn’t know how long she’s been waiting for this moment, but she does know that it’s all been worth it.


End file.
